4 am
by xShippyAngelx
Summary: "Conversations are best at 4 a.m."


**Disclaimer**: I mean no profits with this story. The show and its characters belong to their owners - and I'm no way related to them.

**A/N**: I'm only now joining this amazing Castle fandom and English is not even my second language. So, please, forgive the mistakes. And thank you for reading!

_~ To Sarah (extraordinarilyextraordinary ), for all the support and meaningful messages ~_

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**4 a.m.**,  
by **Shippy** **Angel**

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_"You're going to discover that conversations are best at 4 a.m. The heavier the eyelids, the sincerer the words. Those are the talks you'll remember. It's ok not to know the answer and silence is not awkward. It's shared, so share it more often than not."_

_(Jeff Stuckel)_

It started off as an ordinary routine for them.

Like most things about their relationship, it just happened.

Sometimes they make love; sweet, slow and languid. Other times they just have rough sex; quick, hard and full of energy, usually out of frustration, anger or jealousy. But at least once a week they do this together... They just stay there, lying in bed - breathing, touching, discovering new things...

All their guards down; masks forgotten in the front door.

It's an unspoken rule they have set up between them. A bridge; and not a wall, for once. And between these walls - his loft, her apartment -, sometimes they trade places; she can be playful one while he's the sensible partner. She's often dominant while he's the man-child in wonderland. When it all comes down to, they are always equal, complementary; sharing memories, passions and reasons why they got so damaged in life. They talk about people, about fears and insecurities and all the small sins they have committed throughout the way. They share secret jokes and the weight that seems to take place on both their shoulders - her murder cases, his writing industry pressure or paternal conflicts. They go quiet some nights. And when they don't, she's somehow motherly and sassy and open to listen when he wants to talk. He's always accessible and concentrated when it's her turn.

Well, tonight is one of those nights.

The air smells of sex, her shampoo made of cherries and his wooden cologne; everything joined in a scent that makes them feel like home. Her head rests on his chest naturally, the perfect alignment in which her feminine curves fit his muscled structure; their bodies nestling against one another without any space in-between.

Her long legs are tangled up with his stronger ones while her breasts press against his torso as they calmly breathe. They're warm and relaxed, enjoying the sated feeling that their last orgasm brought. His left arm is holding her to him; his hand playing with her damp curls. Her right hand is diving through his hair, while her left hand's digits are softly touching his available ones, having a silent conversation that their lips can't suffice at this point.

And then something changes.

Castle lets go of his grip on Kate and pushes his body one foot away from hers. His sudden move makes her yelp in surprise and the lack of skin contact leaves her feeling a little cold. He half sits on the bed, leaning on his forearms and staring at the wall in concentration. She reprimands herself, thinking that she should have been used to it by now - what she assumes is every artist's tendency to find inspiration in the most unlikeliest timing - and she can almost hear the gears turning in his head as he blinks repeatedly. She sees the writer in him starting to formulate a plot.

In a split second, she recognizes a spark in his eyes; one that sends a shiver all the way down her spine, because it means he's up to something that will most likely ruin their moment of pure relaxation, with the risk of disturbing the delicious quietness of late night's surroundings.

"Castle," she warns him in a low growl, telling him without greater words that she's not in the mood for any of his impractical theories. But he stays there, concentrated in his own little world, until her hand covers his arm to get his attention. His gaze leaves its earlier focus to rely on hers; and then his face lights up with an unwavering excitement, as if experiencing something new and probably daring.

He sits completely on the bed now, looking down at her; his right hand is trapping hers over his flexed bicep. He silently tells her to hold still, raising from their little sanctuary to search through his bedside table, still butt-naked.

"Castle!", she snaps, covering her face beneath her long fingers in a way to calm herself down. "Whatever it is that you're up to, just let it go."

He keeps his back to her, ignoring her protests. He stays snooping around his own things, stubbornly looking for something. But his skin felt so good against hers just moments ago that she can only keep on trying to convince him in a much lighter tune, "Rick, I've had a hell of a day while you were promoting your book...". He still won't look at her, so she gathers up all patience that she has left and slowly, but surely, commands "Get. Your. Ass. Back. Here."

And he's back to his original spot in less than a second, holding up a pen.

Holding up a freaking pen.

He left her naked in bed to search for a pen at 3 a.m.

Kate wants to punch him. She wants to understand what in the world could be so important that he had to break their spell. But he lies sideways now, facing her, resting his head of his left hand supported by his elbow, trapping the pen against his skull. Then he uses his free right hand to touch her, traveling from her hips to the curve of her waist until it reaches her neck and wraps around it... and he touches her so tenderly that he shuts her up altogether, without uttering a single word.

It's crazy the kind of hold he has on her; but she no longer questions herself about it... Those days are over.

She still wants to know what's going on, though; and his mysterious behavior is kinda disturbing. But he's back and he's there and he's touching her and he's telling her without words how fascinating she is to him; his eyes confessing what some days she still has trouble to admit... and all she can do is wait. Because she predicts somehow that this is their previous moment extended; not interrupted.

Eventually, Kate relaxes completely. Rick uses it a sign to drop his fingers from her body and take the pen from the other hand. He's still looking at her with such an intensity; but she's not that patient and so she rolls her eyes and chooses to ignore him in benefit of prolonging her peaceful feelings.

And while knowing him almost by heart, she gives up on trying to get the words out of him. She leaves him to find his own way back at her (reversing their roles, as he is often the one who does it for her). And so she rolls over, until she's facing the bed, with her crossed arms supporting her forehead.

She closes her eyes; and as soon as she hears him capping the pen open, she interrogates, "What do you think you're doing, Castle?"

He just smiles, understanding that the cop in her doesn't need to have all senses on overload to know what's happening around. He holds the pen up in the air, as if caught with a hand in the cookie jar, while wearing the most adorable expression and letting its cap fall down on the covers. By the time he tries to reach out his arm to touch the nib of the pen against her skin, she warns him, using her Beckett-voice "If you're thinking about autographing my ass, Mr. Castle, you better think again."

He laughs out loud, in such a free way that shakes the bed. She hasn't raised her head from the pillow (it is, after all, the perfect place to prevent him from seeing that she's biting her lips, holding back her own laugh), but she knows that he's smirking in pleasure. So irritating. And so handsome. His voice pulls her out of thoughts, "I seem to recall, Detective Beckett", he whispers, as if there were other people in the room and he needed to keep their dirty little secret safe, "that we have already done that before".

"No," she grunts, complaining something unintelligible under her breath, before making it clear "I don't think that you verbalizing your fantasy of tattooing 'Property of Richard Castle' on the small of my back classifies it as something already done."

And with that she looks at him, straight in the eye. They both feel the hairs on the back of their necks stand up in attention; the sexual tension still undeniable. "Well then", he clarifies, clearing his throat "it has happened before. In my mind, at least."

"Maybe in fantasy. Definitely not in real life, Castle", she assures him while letting her head fall back to the bed once again. "Just get back here", she breathes out, almost begging.

He's there, within her reach. But it's not the same. His mind is elsewhere and she just wants that banter back again. She's missed him fiercely, having to remind herself constantly of the void caused by his absence in the precinct. And now that he's here... she can't let go; because, pretty much like coffee, Kate needs to get her share of Castle on daily basis.

If only he could let her have it...

"Why, Mrs. Beckett", he teases, with a twinkle in his eyes that she absolutely refuses to acknowledge, "it's not like you enjoy a little cuddling... is it?"

By now he knows how much she doesn't seem to be a snuggler, but is. (Like she seems to be a thousand of other things that she isn't.) But their bubble is burst, thanks to his crazy and still unknown plan; so it's not like she's going to let him in anymore. He's pushing it; mocking her. And sometimes she still wonders how perfect they can be together, when he's obviously a nine year-old boy on the inside. Well, she thinks, maybe that's why. She rolls her eyes once more, as if it would be enough to hold back the will to punch his ribs, that are incredibly close to her. It's tempting, really.

"I mean, what would the boys think if told them -"

"No," she interrupts him, holding a finger up in the air, picking up on Lanie's tells. And then she holds her body up, with her hands pushing against the bed, so she can stay a little more level-eyed with him. "But I can still shove that pen elsewhere, Castle. Somewhere you won't enjoy so much."

He loves it; really loves it. Loves the way she tries to make him walk out of something, by talking to him as if trying to break a confession out of a suspect. It makes him smile so much, it hurts - and she's left thinking that this man has some balls to challenge her like this. "You do realize that you're not that intimidating once your gun is laying somewhere on the floor among your underwear", he leans impossibly close to her, their breaths mingling in the air - "don't you?"

He's twirling the pen around his fingers, smiling as if silently enjoying a victory lap. But it doesn't last much when she hums and says, "I can still intimidate you without it. Wanna bet?"

His hand stops in the air, but he's still blatantly smirking, his eyes screaming the dare his mouth is dying to speak out. He doesn't reply, so she makes it clear, arching up her brow, "No sex for a week."

"Aww, Kate", he whines, in an unmanly way, stretching his arms wide open in the air, as she lets her body and head fall back to the bed, still looking at him. "Come on! You can't be serious." He starts to gesture around, trying to make up her mind when she stubbornly refuses to walk sideways with his line of thinking, "I had this amazing idea", he states, looking like a kid trying to convince people at school that his science project is the most awesome one, "And I just need to make it happen."

"This late at night?"

"Well, yes! That's what they call 'inspiration', you know.", he shrugs, mimicking the quote lines with his finger. He says it as if it's obvious and completely acceptable, "We don't get to decide when it comes to us. We just embrace it."

"Yeah, Castle", she shifts her gaze to the ceiling, "I'm sure we do". Her voice is patronizing, because Kate could go on in this insane argument; she really could. But as far as she's concerned, it's past 3 a.m. and they were having an amazing time before he broke it all off. So she simply doesn't want to go on.

But his ocean eyes grow deeper, darker; and that makes Kate feel like she's going to enjoy the outcome. Castle suddenly feels a little out-of-place, looking around, as though unsure of himself; but she's had a crappy day and he needs to do it. Because when it comes to this woman it's not much about the complications of climbing up a mountain, but the awards of sharing the view afterwards.

Rick is sitting with his legs turned towards her lying body. He reaches out his right arm so the tip of his fingers can soothe the silken skin on the expanse of her back and, with that, her eyes instantly close, enjoying the feeling. Goosebumps erupt all over her skin and he continues the journey; caressing her from the end of her neck to the top of her ass, eventually going all the way down to her calves. He's calming her down, playing her like a piano. He has the right to, now; and it feels so good, so dangerously good. He's watching her, cataloguing every one of her expressions. He already knows her reactions almost by instinct, but he can't get enough. She's addictive. And so he doesn't stop until she's lying there, in complete surrender, almost falling asleep; just the way they both were before he rose from the bed.

His movements ease, but they hold their eye contact; until Castle slowly approaches his face to hers, their mouths meeting in a slow dance. She bites his upper lips while he attaches his tongue to hers, swirling it around and around and around... She gasps; he groans. The angle is a little awkward but the kiss is meanful, so they don't mind changing it. Kate tries to turn around eventually, but Rick's hand on the top of her buttocks hold her in place.

He wants her like that and she's yet to understand why.

Their lips unlock, but he remains close to her. "I just want to write", he explains in the sweetest voice, not letting go of their fixed look. "- to you."

She has a wrinkle between her brows. Was he even serious? "Now?", she asks, looking around. "Here?"

He simply nods, wearing a smile that seems far too wise to fit his boyish soul.

She thinks she has an understanding of what he can possibly mean, so she settles completely, "If I remember correctly, you already did". They share a smile as Kate pushes Rick to lie beside her, trying to get back to the way they were before. "A bunch of books, an entire series."

"This is different", he promises.

Castle reaches out to put a strand of her hair behind her left ear, revealing as much of her pretty face as possible. He's about to get so exposed that he can't help but want her to do the same... And despite being so comfortable around him after so many years as partners and now months as lovers, she still can't help the blush overcoming her cheeks whenever Niki Heat is brought up, even if implied. And it amazes him.

He's still holding the pen with the other hand; but his eyes are so open and so honest that she has no choice but to give it all away. He's such a baby sometimes, but she's head over heels with him.

It's pathetic. It really is.

He dives his face into her neck and she can feel his jaw clenching... He's mustering up some courage. But what for? As though reading her thoughts, he explains, "I want to write... on you, Kate."

She narrows her eyes, letting it all sink in; pulling together every piece of this nonsense puzzle that only existed in Castle's mind until now. His right forefinger is still lightly drawing the eternity symbol around her dimples that he loves so much. He breaks apart, still leaning his body on his left elbow, just so he can take a better look at her, who's staring at him in disbelief. "I want to share all the words I know". He knows he must sound crazy, but he doesn't care, because he finds that he can't only love her piece by piece; sometimes, he needs to love her all at once. "You've had a hell of a day. And there are things you deserve to know."

She chuckles indulgently, a little self-conscious, and looks at him with the deepest affection. She lifts her hand to touch his lips... And it's such a lazy and honest caress; it's all they need to keep moving forward throughout this life. They are at their truly best: communicating without words. She's far too convinced to play this game with him, wherever it may lead.

When the realization hits her, her cheeks start to burn from embarrassment - and even arousal -, so she turns her face to the mattress without having the time to bite back a smile.

He has her consent.

"This ink better be water removal", she advises him.

He laughs, shaking his head from side to side. "You worry too much", he criticizes with humor, bending his head down to kiss her hair.

"Somebody has to", she speaks close to his face, "since you don't worry enough". She angles her head in a way that gives her lips the perfect opportunity to go straight to his ear, gently biting down his lobe. And then she actually laughs, a low rumble that's warming his heart and reassuring him, even without knowing, that he's making the right move here. Always breaking down her walls...

Her nails dig into his thighs, catching the way he hisses the air between his teeth and clenches his hands into the covers. She lets out an evil laugh and hears his complaint, "You're such a tease".

"You sure you still want to play this game, Castle?", she proposes, palming his face and skimming her nose across the curve of his jaw, his chin, his own nose... He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, letting his forehead touch hers.

He doesn't answer with words; he just gets back to stare into her eyes.

"Okay", she gives in, with a nod of acceptance.

His heart skips a beat. He doesn't resist the will to nestle his face into her neck once again, drinking in her fragrance as he takes a huge breath, always amazed at how lucky he is... Maybe this is all what this is about. "You almost died on the job today and I wasn't there."

"Rick", she tries to assure him, but stops when realizes he's vehemently shaking his head.

"No, just..." He trails off. He's being irrational and he knows it. She's trained for chasing criminals and collecting evidences. Just as he's supposed to deliver pages before the deadlines and to play his part in the contracts he signs. It's what they do.

It doesn't make it any easier, though; especially because most of the days they are partners, inside and out of the 12th, not knowing exactly who is protecting whom.

And she understands it. They're still naked and open, but maybe having rough sex tonight (she had been high on adrenaline due to the close call and he had been worried, punishing himself with unnecessary guilty) wasn't enough. He might just have suffocated and perhaps he needs to let out in his own way.

After all, she has her board, a gun and a badge.

He has the alphabet.

The air is a little less tense when he stays on his knees and treats her hair fondly, before saying in a teasing tone of voice, "And just because you've been a good girl, I'm also going to read to you". She almost sees a younger version of Castle saying those exact words to Alexis when she was a little girl, wondering how protected his daughter must have felt then, because that's how she - a full-grown woman - feels now. He crawls towards her lower half, scooting forward so he can place himself between her open legs. Kate raises her torso and leans on her arms so she can stretch her neck, following his moves, even if only partially.

"You're extraordinary", he repeats the adjective he once put as a dedication in one of his books; but they seem different now, more powerful.

Castle raises her left leg softly, bending her knees backwards and touching the skin on her ankle with the tip of the pen. His cursive letter marks her skin and Kate shivers lightly, trying to understand the words that, upside down, seem foreign.

"_**for letting me stick around**_", he spells out, ghosting a touch of his lips against the skin he finds there.

She wants to tell him that she doesn't even need to know the words. She's having his caligraphy temporarily tattooed on her skin, so it's hard not to fangirl and even harder to worry about the stains in the morning.

She doesn't need to know the words, because the feelings he's evoking with the tip of his fingers and the black ink of an ordinary pen combined with the effects of his husky voice pronouncing the words are all too delicious. Because his love, even when unspoken, is more than enough.

She says nothing, though.

He palms both of her legs, but stops when he reaches the back of her right knee to trace a few more words with the pen.

"**_for keeping me grounded_**", he verbalizes, kissing the surface; his voice is certainly rougher than he meant it. And she gets it, because she's completely naked and, despite of how intimate this moment is, he's still a hot-blooded man with a view of the heavens.

He moves forward and, holding the pen between his thumb and middle fingers, he points it to the ceiling so he can caress her butt cheeks with both his hands, worshiping her body. The angle where they're in makes it impossible for her to look at him, but she can imagine the way he's looking at her now; hungry and wild.

She wants to tame him.

But then he holds the pen with grace and sketches more words right in the middle of her back.

"**_for looking so hot while kicking bad-guy's asses_**", he declares, barely holding back his laugh. And by the time she releases hers, skimming her hand on top of his by her hip, they let it all go. It takes a lot longer than they thought it would for the giggles and chuckles to subside. And when they do, Castle touches the top of her ass with his forehead, breathing deep to regain focus, but amazed by the beautiful curve he gets to see from that angle.

She's perfect, he thinks to himself.

And she's shivering now, and it's so hard and uncontrollable that a voice in her head commands her to feel ashamed; only, she doesn't. She's falling even deeper in love with this man and this conclusion (no matter how obvious) is suddenly so scary, she can't quite comprehend.

He bites the skin that's available to him, letting a bit of his control slip, and moves forward until his eyes are scanning a scar that she has between her shoulder blades. He knows the history behind she mark; he heard her describing the pain she had felt when the criminal shoved the knife through her flesh... and that's reason enough for Castle to cover it with his writing.

So he does it.

"_**for saving lives everyday**_", he enunciates, brushing his lips across the line of skin underneath the words, and adds "**_(including mine)_**"

He gently lifts her hair off the back of her neck, so he can lavish the area with his lips, his tongue, his teeth... He absolutely loves the way she smells there. And with the caress, she hums in the back of her throat. His body is molding hers completely, not denying the evidence to how much this is affecting him too - and she's glad to know she's not the only one losing control here. Despite his painful erection, he softly holds her hair up against the pillow with his left hand, as he draws the words in the base of her neck, a little shaky.

"_**for being the most remarkable muse any writer could ever ask for**_", he whispers, rubbing her ear lobe with the nip of his nose. "For being my muse", he declares, without writing down the words, his hot breath hitting her, so close that it feels like they're becoming one. And she feels her toes curling without permission.

His voice is sexy and his breath is labored when he tells her to roll over.

So she does it his way.

Their eyes meet and it's irresistible, so they both just give in and erase the distance between their lips. They kiss with abandon. It's erotic to the point he almost forgets his 'mission'; but, before it becomes overwhelming, Rick holds her hips down to the bed so he can regain control.

Their grins widen, but they share no words; silent lips swollen and red.

Rick returns to the end of the mattress, until his face is almost pressed against her right inner thigh. He smells the area, flying his closed lips across it, while maintaining eye contact with Kate. She's panting, but he pretends not to notice, raising his body enough to write his thoughts.

"**_for remaining so focused in the crime scenes, even when you want to strip me out of my clothes_**", he remarks as the corners of his lips twitch up, smacking an enthusiastic kiss in the space he can reach.

She rolls her eyes, asking herself how he can be so charming in a minute, and so oddly annoying right after. She sarcastically replies, "Yeah, because you can be so distracting, Castle."

He sits up, trying to look offended. "Are you implying otherwise?", he challenges, with protecting hands over his heart, the ink from the pen staining his own chest. He realizes it and wets the tip of his thumb to take it off; but her instincts are quicker, so she raises from the bed, also sitting on it, to lick if off.

It's his turn to close his eyes and let his head fall back, groaning of pleasure. "Not so easy when you're on the other side, uh Castle?", she tempts and he takes her shoulders to pull her back to rest on the bed completely. Her bones fall easily, as she's seducing him with a curl of her lips alone.

His gaze lets go of hers, as he holds the pen with professionalism, looking for the perfect area to draw the letters he wants to. But she's shaved this week; and her looking so smooth makes it impossible for Castle not to lose focus for a couple of seconds and stop from doing anything else, just to press his lips and run his tongue over her softest skin. She gaps, sinking her teeth to her lower lip, as he breathes in her womanly scent and looks back at her hip bone. Once he's had his fill of her, he heads to the curve of her left hip. He closes his eyes in concentration and smiles, letting a dimple form in his left cheek. And so he inserts the words.

"**_for developing a better use for ice cubes ;)_**", he reveals, winking at her, as if in a personification of the smiley he drew on her. And she laughs so hard that her abdomen hurts... He would share the joke too, if he wasn't so distracted by the careless beauty in front of him.

As if sensing the possibility of change in his mood, she tempts him, "Well, I should get a patent for that" and she shrugs as he just stares at her, not approving. The humor seemed to be gone, if it wasn't for the smile on the corner of his lips. He decides to tease her back, by saying, "Well, I did insert a wink down there... But you know what? I think I'm gonna take it off after that comment."

They share a laugh, because he's not moving a muscle; he's just looking at her, loving her. They hold each other's stare as the time goes by... And eventually they get back to Earth.

He goes to her ribs; fitting himself between her legs, now in full contact with his. He remains on her left side, since it's easier for him to write. He caresses the softness he finds there with trembling fingers, before holding the nip of the pen against it, dashing off what's on his mind.

"_**for fighting your darkness every single day**_", he devoices, locking his eyes with hers. He skim his lips against it, and says "For letting me fight it with you" as if a mantra, low on his throat, barely spoken. His tongue dives in her belly button before his whole face presses against her lap. Her hands automatically run towards his hair; grabbing his scalp, caressing his locks. She pets him as he's been doing with her entire body tonight.

They're good at this: taking care of each other...

And, as good as it is, he still has things to do. So he press a last kiss before moving away from her warmth, even if a little reluctantly. His left hand goes in search of her right one, without ruining the fact that they're having eye-sex. Their eyes saying what their mouths dare not pronounce. Their fingers touch, her thumb strolling soft against his palm.

He raises her hand in the air, until it's close enough that he can kiss each digit. Her fingertips enjoy the opportunity to whisper across his face, his lines, his lips, his stubble... as if thanking him; as if promising 'always'. Castle presses her hand against his shoulder, offering support. Then he takes the pen and starts to write from her delicate wrist, towards the inside of her elbow.

"_**for smiling when I wake you up, even though you're not a morning person**_", he recites the words and she releases a throaty laugh, in answer; her eyes softening even more. She's telling him without words that she loves his energy, his light and the way he makes her otherwise boring life so interesting. And his eyes replies that he's thankful for being able to admire her so closely, for the opportunity to try to be her other half.

They take a deep breath at the same time; always in sync.

And that's when he softly lets go of her arm to focus his gaze on her chest. That's also when she holds her breath in anticipation. He bends over, so his head is resting against her left breast, the sound of her heart beats giving meaning to his existence. Then he looks to the scar she has right in the middle; the bullet that almost took her away from him in the Captain's funeral. The first time he admitted his love for her out loud.

He's close enough for her to feel his hot breath dancing on her jaw... she wants to end this torture, but feels there's one last thing he has to do before they can consummate what their bodies are praying for.

He gently touches the flawed skin that he finds there, blowing a butterfly kiss.

He holds the pen with delicacy, scribbling his most heartfelt words, the ones he was thinking of when he decided to get out of the bed and leave the comfort of her body for. He wanted it to be worth; because she's worth it all.

"**_for diving into this_**", he whispers, "_**-us-**_,". He pauses and looks deep into her eyes so he can finally finish what he has started. "..._**when we both know it scares to death**_".

There's a hitch in her breath that makes him swallow.

They share a silent conversation that resumes in how much he loves her and she loves him and they really shouldn't be going that deep because they make each other crazy most of the time and because they can lose it all but despite the fact that she's 'ying' and he's 'yang' it's life finally making sense and they can't leg go and it hurts but they can't stop.

Not now.

Not ever.

Because they're drunk in happiness and logic is unnecessary.

She finds the strength to push his body towards her.

This amazing, amazing man.

Hers.

She wants to have a gift for words, just like he does, so she can express all the things he deserves to know. She wants to tell him that she's his too; all his, only his. But she's getting choked up and there's only so much a girl can take.

She fits beside him comfortably as he traces all her contours in the dark, their eyes never letting the other fly astray.

And they make love; even though they were both way too close to weariness before it even begins.

It happens in slow motion; sweet, tender and endless.

It's too early for them to wake up and start their morning duties, but far too late for them to fall asleep, if she wants to make it in time to work. It's almost 5 a.m. now; the early morning breeze is dancing with the curtains and the sky is still dark, though a couple of sun rays are flirting with a couple of clouds far away.

Soon, people will wake up in the city that never sleeps; their alarms going off as a claim that is time for them to start their showers and coffees, their cars and 'good mornings' while paperwork are already waiting on desks.

And, still - a writer and his muse remain silent, gently wrapped inside their own little bubble; sharing a sacred ritual - one they cannot function without anymore.

Despite of how little sense they seem to make on paper; aside her walls and scars or his careless playboy personality, they have a tight grip on each other and they just know that she won't let go and he won't move for the world.

Their eyelids are heavy; they got as close to vulnerability as humanly possible tonight.

And with a fit so perfect, there is no space for secrets between them.

Only understanding.

Only trust.

Only love.

They hold each other even closer than before; the ink on her skin transferring to his, since they are both completely soaked with sweat.

But it's not like they could care.

Because with a fit so perfect, there's no wonder why conversations are best at 4 a.m.

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**The End**

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**A/N: **I should post the angst story that I was writing before. Or I shouldn't post anything at all. But this plot just wouldn't leave me alone; pretty much like my Castle obsession these days... (:


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